


You Realize this Means War

by gingertoadstools



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-25
Updated: 2014-11-25
Packaged: 2018-02-26 23:15:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2670002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gingertoadstools/pseuds/gingertoadstools
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>No one wants to be a soldier. Some people are just good at it. Some people forget how not to be one. Some people let it consume them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Realize this Means War

**Author's Note:**

> I don't think that this has actually graphic violence but man if it is please tell me ill tag it as such. also if the rating's wrong or if i should tag anything/one else, please tell me im not great at recognizing it. past that, enjoy uvu

He hadn’t seen Felix tremble for years.

Really, Locus had only seen it once before, when their armor was matching tan and mint and their guns were inexperienced and uncomfortable in their hands. Felix and he, watching what was supposed to be a battle become a massacre, struggling their way toward survival. Their almost-new armor boots clinging desperately to the bleeding ground, because if they fell there was no guarantee they’d have the opportunity to stand again.

The names and arrangement of the corpses had been lost in the years since, as well as whatever he and Felix had shouted to each other when they were convinced they were going to join the bloody ranks. But, vividly, Locus remembers how he could not persuade his body to breathe and the way the recoil of Felix’s gun seemed to throw him. He does not remember the number of dead or when they were recovered, but instead can recount how a roar of blood can drown out gunshots and how they only swore under their breath because it seemed like they should, how stiff the words fell out.

That was when he’d seen Felix falter, hands shaking too hard to reload, fumbling the magazine to the ground. The “fuck” was more visible than audible. His legs quivering gave way to a full-body tremor and Locus feared that his boots would come uprooted and he would be alone in the massacre.

But instead of hunting for a new magazine or trying to salvage the one he’d dropped, Felix slipped out his combat knife and clenched his wobbling fingers around the hilt. The cuts he made with it were jagged, but no less fatal than confident ones.

And when they were released from that, in comfortable, sterile grey ship, on familiarly hard seats, when the concept of safety finally materialized, Felix stopped shaking. He went limp against the wall and let out airy, sighed swears. Locus watched him as a way to pretend he wasn’t about to fall apart himself, to let his mind believe itself okay. He didn’t remember when he tore his own helmet off and threw it at the wall above Felix, but Felix still held it over him for years after, even if neither had reacted to it at the time.

But age and experience had been kind to Felix’s nerves. He’d been steady and never trembled beyond whatever intentional charm he may have been trying to act out. The skittish roles never suited him, Locus thought. Watching him waver, even in play, was wrong.

This was Felix trembling.

This was Felix silent except for the sound of grinding teeth and heavy breaths waiting for their call to go through to Control. This was Felix’s helmet tilted downward enough to know he wasn’t looking at his partner. This was Felix bringing the atmosphere down on his audience.

Felix’s entire body was vibrating with furious energy, and Locus didn’t need to look at him to read the wrath singeing the proximity. But Felix never shook when angry before, and Locus looked at him anyway.

And Felix was scared.

Not openly, no, but from the way he tried to hide a flinch when Locus swiveled his helmet to look at him, and the way his elbows touched his sides. The sorts of things that did not detract the overwhelmingly suffocating ire that even a blind man in a sniper’s nest could read, but that Locus has not seen in his partner for years.

The longer the cross on his helmet angled toward Felix, the more Felix relaxed his posture but his own helmet turned away. He tried to maintain his dignity, his act, his character, even as he feared the acknowledgment of his failing. Maybe it was odd and out of place for Felix, and maybe it surprised Locus, but mostly he just thought it was a bit pathetic.

The crackling, automatic-sounding voice finally opens to them with intense disappointment and Felix stays silent. Locus debated putting a hand on his back to steady him, since even not looking, he could swear Felix was about to start shaking again.

On the other hand, he did ruin years of intricately woven deceit in one awful monologue, and would also never do the same in return, so Locus kept his hand hard against his side. He could almost hear the worried breathing beside him and while he did not relish in it, he did not feel any guilt.

But the tuned voice was cut out and Felix and Locus both looked to the screen with confusion written into the way the plates of their armor shifted around each other.

Until a cheery voice made itself recognizable over the frequency and Locus absentmindedly told Control that it was just a mistake.

But the screen shifted from being text and sound waves into an image of those morons standing side-by-side like they were trying to emulate a wall or any of the strength of one. Center-stage was the small figure that had Felix’s teeth on edge for hours, proclaiming something through them to their employer. And Locus was not happy to see it.

Felix, beside him, had stopped shrinking and had instead stiffened to a fine statue with tense fury running lines visibly through him. His fists were clenched, his helmet tilted down, his shoulders tugged back, and his ire flaming hot enough to burn Locus’ cheek through his helmet. Felix was staring at the screen like he wanted to jump through it to tear out their throats, whether it be with hands or knife or teeth. Locus couldn’t quite help his empathy, especially while trying to ignore each of his own ambivalent glances he took toward the soldier standing strong immediately to the right of the holographic figure.

The voice coming from the small, equipment-running AI was more clear and human than Locus had heard his own voice sound for years.

When the word “idiotic” was used, with disgusted amusement, Felix actually jolted toward the screen, like he didn’t even care he couldn’t physically tear their throats out, like just shoving his hand through the screen would satisfy him at that point. It’s only then that Locus placed a hand firmly on Felix’s shoulder. Not a gesture of comfort or sympathy, but restraint. A warning not to let himself go too far, as this terminal was their safest connection to their employer.

Even if their employer was now unmasked, he still had proprietary interests in this planet, and even if Locus was starting to question the intelligence behind sticking around when they were obviously at a disadvantage, unable to create a rational reason beyond how Felix wouldn’t leave at this point.

The message was over surprisingly shortly. Felix looked livid and Locus was still trying to wipe grey and yellow out of his vision and knew he probably wouldn’t be able to.

A heavily weighted pause had taken roost atop their heads as they waited for war once more, and now, again, one more where it was just they two against everyone and everything. Felix took a few minutes, trying to gasp out words, failed, and stormed deeper into their abandoned-base-cum-hideout.

Waiting for noises, Locus followed him silently minutes later to furious metal clinking and a voice bitten in half on the way through ground teeth. He watched for a few minutes as Felix tantrummed and shot up at least one of the overhead lights and swore because that was the thing to do, and how stiffly the swears felt in the air.

So Locus offered to spar, however Felix preferred. And it quieted him for a little.

Which led to a scene of Felix and Locus, knives clanging because maybe it’s Felix’s specialty, and maybe he just wants to feel a little talented and powerful right now, but Locus had learned how to hold his own in a knife fight with Felix. He had to. It’s how they got so balanced.

Because he and Felix had been competing since the moment they met. They never let up on training because they both knew the other never had and neither wanted the other to win their little rivalry. Felix never had interest in strength training until he saw Locus carry 216 pounds almost a mile. Locus never cared for blades until Felix managed to hit a bullseye with a butter knife while blindfolded. And they pushed each other with how much they used to care.

Felix almost didn’t remember how Locus’ hair used to look before the corners near his ears started greying, but remembered how he had gone into the military only to satisfy a tradition no one else respected anymore and how his eyes were so light brown for having such dark skin. And Locus didn’t remember how Felix used to pin back his long dark hair, but remembered the flawlessness of his skin before it freckled flitted with scars and how little, barely-out-of-school Felix laughed about the fact he only joined in order to avoid college, and hoped that he wouldn’t have to shoot people too much.

And it’s a little nauseating. Felix pinned him to the floor, knife against him as the ephemeral memories faded and he remembered where they were now. On a planet they tried to wipe of life, in a base they hoped would not be found.

And Felix’s hands steady against his neck.


End file.
